Julian took the fifth step up the granite staircase of the 1996 Civic Census Annex.
The damp air smelled of wet stone, old motor oil, and the bitter copper stench of boiling red ink. Beneath his boots, the stone steps vibrated with a deep, subterranean hum that felt like a dying dynamo spinning down in a flooded cellar.
Vance Sterling backed into the arched doorway. His spine hit the heavy bronze doorplates with a loud metallic shudder that echoed through the empty plaza.
He jammed both of his hands deep behind his back, tucking them under the waistband of his ruined pinstripe trousers. He squeezed his eyes shut until the deep wrinkles around his temples twitched with agony.
“I refuse the tender!” Sterling screamed, his chest heaving violently under his torn silk vest. “I am not party to an active transaction!”
“You cannot force tender upon an unwilling party on a public sidewalk! Under Common Commercial Law, a valid retail purchase requires mutual consent at the point of sale!”
Julian reached the top landing.
He stopped four feet from his uncle. Thomas Vance stepped up beside him, the broad black municipal umbrella held steady over their heads, keeping off the cold mist.
